


Kiss the Cook

by happy29



Category: due South
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-12-19
Updated: 2014-12-19
Packaged: 2018-03-02 05:47:48
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,626
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2801816
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/happy29/pseuds/happy29
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Ray wants take out... Fraser wants to cook.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Kiss the Cook

**Author's Note:**

> I really do believe that Kowalski can cook, but this little thing got stuck in my head and wouldn't shake loose. Thanks to Butterfly Ghost for the banter :)

“So, Frase, what’s it gonna be?” Ray Kowalski stepped behind the breakfast bar in his apartment and pulled a phone book out from under the phone. “Pizza or Chinese?”

Fraser dropped his hat to the countertop and pulled out the red vinyl covered bar stool and took a seat. “Do we have to order out? Why don’t we cook something for a change?”

Ray glanced up from the Chinese take-out menu he pulled from the front of the phone book. “Cook?” he asked as if the word was a foreign language being spoken for the first time. “Did you hit your head today?”

“Not that I recall.” Fraser cocked his head to the side, a playful smile pulling at his lips. “You do own pots and pans, right?”

“Of course I have pots and pans.” Ray dropped the menu to the counter and folded his arms defensively over his chest. “Stella left them when she… you know… left.”

“Oh.” Fraser momentarily dropped his eyes to the countertop. He picked at the crusty ring formed from Ray’s coffee and toast earlier that morning. His boyfriend was a slob. “Have you used them since?” he dared. He raised his head as he asked, his ice blue eyes caught Ray staring at him in disbelief.

Ray snorted and shook his head. “Okay, smart ass.” He turned around and opened a cupboard door underneath the counter to the left of the sink. He dropped his frame into a squat and his blond head disappeared into the dark opening.

“Ray,” Fraser stood and leaned over the breakfast bar trying to get a better view of his disappearing partner. A silver pot was pulled out and dropped to the floor… then another.

“How many you want?” Ray’s muffled voice called out.

“That all depends on what you want to make.” Fraser replied and cringed when another pot bounced on the linoleum floor.

The blond head emerged from the abyss of the cupboard and glared at his partner. “This was _your_ idea. Therefore the responsibility of the menu lies upon your shoulders.” Ray ducked his head back into the dark void. “Now, _how many?”_

Fraser sat back down on the barstool. “I believe what you retrieved will be prove to be sufficient.” He stood and worked his way around the bar into the kitchen to find Ray removing himself from the cupboard. Fraser bent over and picked up the larger kettle and held out his hand to Ray, offering to help him up. “How does pasta sound?”

“Delicious.” Ray leaned forward and planted a quick kiss to Fraser’s lips. “What do we need?”

“Well,” Fraser glanced inside the pot and wrinkled his nose in disgust. “First… we need to wash your pans.”

Ray chuckled and shoved his hands deep into his pockets, embarrassed. “Yeah, they haven’t been used much.” He snatched the pot out of Fraser’s hands and threw a thumb over his shoulder as he took a step backward. “I’ll just wash them real quick if you want to go out and pick up whatever we need to make pasta.” As Ray stepped backward he tripped over a pot still on the floor. The pot clambered against the refrigerator with a resounding thud. Fraser reacted quickly and grabbed Ray’s arm before he fell into the counter.

“Thanks,” Ray managed, resisting the urge to kick the other pot across the kitchen.

“I’ll be back in twenty minutes.” Fraser pulled Ray close and pressed a kiss to his lips. “Scrub hard, the dust is pretty thick in these.” He turned and grabbed his Stetson off the counter. “I’ll pick Dief up from the Consulate on my way back. I’m sure Constable Turnbull has worn on his nerves already.”

Ray huffed as he glanced into the pot tucked under his arm. “Hey,” he called to Fraser before the door closed. “Pick me up a stick of dynamite would ya? These are pretty gross with the dust and all. Not sure a brillo pad will do the trick.”

“Use elbow grease, Ray,” Fraser replied with a smirk as he pulled the door closed.

“Elbow grease? Freak!”

~*~

When Fraser opened the door to the apartment, Ray was sitting on the sofa with his feet propped up on the coffee table, head slack against the back of the couch, lips slightly parted and snoring softly. Quiet jazz music filled the apartment. Dief sniffed Ray’s foot and yipped loudly at the blond, startling him awake.

“Sorry, it took me so long. Dief and Turnbull were in the middle of an argument when I arrived at the Consulate.”

“No problem,” Ray said through a stifled yawn. “I was just resting my eyes.” Ray stretched his limbs and scratched Dief on the head before following Fraser to the kitchen. “Pot’s on the stove all ready for you.”

Fraser dug through the bag and pulled out a package of pasta noodles and a jar of sauce. “I thought with the delay at the Consulate, we would go for quick and easy.”

“Quick and easy works for me.” Ray grinned and took the pasta out of Fraser’s hands and turned to the sink. He filled a pot with water and placed it on the stove. After igniting the burner, he tore the top off the pasta package, dumped the noodles into his hands, snapped them in half and dropped them into the cold water. He turned and leaned against the counter and motioned to the coffee pot. “I made coffee if you need a cup.” He caught Fraser staring at the pot on the stove. “What’s wrong?”

“Ray, do you know how to cook?” Fraser asked carefully.

“It’s pasta, Frase. How hard can it be? Besides, I’m a guy. A single guy, mind you. I eat out all the time. I don’t need to know how to cook.”

“You have to boil the water… _before_ you add the pasta.” Fraser opened a cupboard searching for a colander to drain the pasta and start over.

“Why?” Ray asked as he located the item in question for Fraser.

“You’re kidding, right? Ray, if you don’t boil the water first, the noodles will all stick together in one gooey lump.” Fraser ran his hands through his hair, mussing it up. “No wonder you eat out all the time.” He turned to face his partner after adding more water to the pot and trying to salvage the wet noodles. Ray was pouting with his arms folded across his chest. “I’m sorry. But really, Ray, there is a process that must be followed. You simply can’t just throw the pasta into cold water.” Fraser shrugged and swiped at his eyebrow. “Well, I suppose you can, but I wouldn’t want to eat the results of it.”

“You’re being a bit snippy, don’t you think? So, I can’t cook. Big deal.” Ray’s pouting continued as he poured himself a cup of coffee and stirred in some chocolates.

“Practical, Ray. I’m being practical.”

“Snippy and bossy.”

“You want to see snippy and bossy?” Fraser stepped into Ray’s personal space, placed his hands on his shoulders and turned him out of the kitchen. “I do love you, but you’re not allowed in my kitchen.” Fraser swatted Ray on the backside before turning back to the stove. He placed another pot on the stove and poured in the jar of meat sauce.

Ray placed his coffee on the breakfast bar and slid in behind Fraser at the stove. He pressed his body up tightly against his partners. He pressed a kiss to the back of Fraser’s neck and then began to suck on the lobe of his left ear.

“Ray,” Fraser warned as his body betrayed his brain, reacting to the sensual touch as he leaned back to meet Ray. “Ray… sneaking your hands up my shirt will not change my mind.” Fraser’s body shuddered as he felt movement near the waistband of his jeans. “Nor will the hand down the front of my pants.”

“You sure about that, Frase?” Ray whispered into Fraser’s ear as he wrapped his fingers around Fraser’s hardening cock. Ray had Fraser pressed up against the stove, thankful his partner had chosen to use the back two burners instead of the front ones. He felt Fraser’s arms brush his sides before strong hands settled on his ass pulling him closer.

“Dammit, if I could only reach a spatula I would…” Fraser’s breath hitched as Ray latched onto the side of his neck. “I would… _slap you_.” He turned his neck to give Ray better access.

“Hmm,” Ray hummed as he tightened his grip, one hand on Fraser’s hip the other working its way up and down Fraser’s cock. “I might like that.”

“Don’t tempt me…”

“Why? You gonna punish me?” Ray asked as he nipped at an earlobe.

“You play dirty Mister Kowalski.” Fraser began to tremble wrapped in Ray’s embrace. “I think we just ruined the pasta.”

“Who cares about the pasta? I’m moving straight to desert…”

“You do realize,” Fraser voice was merely a whimper. “Deserts are _far_ more complicated that just plain old pasta…”

“Yes, Fraser,” Ray dropped a tender kiss to the back of Fraser’s neck again. “I do realize that you are one complicated desert.”

“Well, then I believe at some point,” Fraser wriggled enough to turn and face Ray, one hand still tucked securely in his pants wrapped around his cock, the other pulling him close. “I believe you are to… _kiss the cook…_ properly.”

Ray leaned forward and Fraser met him half-way. Their lips pressed together, tongues invading each other’s mouths.

“You can teach me to cook anytime, Frase.”

“And you can distract me from trying to teach you to cook, _anytime_.”

"Chinese is number two on speed dial... just sayin'."

 

 

 

 


End file.
